40 ; ‘ 
at least his literary labours were defi- 
cient in that judgment and feeling, which 
. so eminently distinguished those of Pau- 
lus Manutius. The numerous events of 
his life are proofs, that a certain incon- 
stancy of mind, prevented his being con- 
tented for any length of time in one 
place, and precluded a steady perseve- 
gance in the same labours; we have seen 
him a printer, a secretary to the senate, 
a professor of the belies-lettres, and suc- 
Original Poetry. 
[Aug. 1, 
cessively established at Venice, at Bo- 
logna, at Pisa, and at Rome, although he 
died at an early age. His works are in 
general those of a learned man, and par- 
ticularly of a grammarian, one who well 
understuod the* subjects which engaged 
his attention, and the language in which 
he wrote; but the contrast is great be- 
tween his style, and that of Paulus Ma- 
nutius, which was never less correct, and 
always more elegant. 
ORIGINAL POETRY. 
a 
SCOTTISH SONG. 
Tunr.—** 0 a the airts the win’ can blaw.” 
A BONNY lass I dearly like 
And feel a tervent flanie, 
Aftthinkin’ of ber form I rove 
But dinna ken her name. 
Luve’s darts are in her twa blue een, 
_ Her form is grace itsel’; 
Whane’er she smiles her beauty’s seen 
An’ mair than I can tell. 
A something that I canna name 
Comes drizzlin’ thro’ my bluid, 
An’ strives for vent thro’ a’ my frame, 
I'm thinkin’ it’s nae gude. 
But I’ve an inklin® what it’s now 
It’s nae witchcraft ill thing, 
But just lve’s darts are shootin’ thro” 
An’ that’s the verra thing. 
What if she'd gie a chidin’ frown, 
Or.-cast a jeerin’ ce, 
Wi thoughs o’ that 1’m dizzy grown, 
I think *twad gar me die. 
We aukwait glee I'd sing her charms, 
An’ tout her beauty’s ‘ame 5 
But I maun dumb and dowie be, 
I dinna ken her name. 
Edinburgh. ALEXANDER SCOTUS. 
ee eee 
, SONNET, WRITTEN IN YOUTH, 
By MISS STARKE. 
WHERE are the fancied joys which erst 
cou’d show’r 
On this young head ineffable delight ? 
Where are the fancied woes whose freezing 
pow’r * 
The op’ning bloom of happiness coud 
blight? ; 
Where are those hopes which led me to de- 
sire 
Love’s rosy chain, or Grony’s proud ar- 
ray? 
Awhile they flam'd, a fierce and dang’rous 
Lot ef AXES F ; 
Then, like some transient whirlwind, died 
away. 
& 
Strong-pinion’d Fancy, hence! delude no 
more 3 
My brightest hopes were nought but fragile 
glass ; 
‘No longer their destruction P’ll deplore,’ 
But, of the scatter’d fragments form a 
mass ; 
Which, by the furnace of Experience 
join’d, 
Shall prove henceforth, a mirror for my mind. 
SE 
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A LADY. 
By Mr. PENWARNE. 
AT sober eve I'slow ascend the hill, 
And view where glorious sinks the orb of 
day, 
Gilding the distant track of yonder rili, 
That down the valley holds its devious way. 
Along whose pleasant banks TI oft have stray’d 
With Anwa, peerless maid, whose loss I 
mourn 3 
And mark with pleasing’ pain, amid the shade, 
The lingering light still hang upon her urn 
The fairest gem that Nature ever form’d; 
The loveliest fowerthatadorn’dher wreath; 
Virtue the brightest that e’er bosom warm'd; 
Lie in the sullen cold embrace of Death. 
Yet Nature mourns not—not for ANNA 
fall 
Those pearly tears that glitter on the 
ground: 
Unheedful she to sorrow’s gentle call, 
Unmov’d, pursues her fix’d eternal round. 
Yet not unheedéd, let her lessuns pour, 
Sweet consolation with her ever dwells 5 
Observe her well in every varying hour, 
And this important truth she ever tells, 
‘¢ All things have end, but to begin again.—= 
‘6 The babbling brook which seems not to 
_ return, 
s¢ But hastens headlong to the boundless 
Main 5 
66 Rais'd by the sun shall fill again its urn. 
4 Ripe- 
